Despondent Silence
by Sideshow Cellophane 26
Summary: Five nations wake up in an abandoned city in what they think is a post-apocalyptic world. Something horrible happened here, and there is a heavy fog that never lifts leaving them vulnerable and lost. They are all trying to survive, and they are all being hunted. England is the only magic wielder who knows what happened to that silent world, and this is his punishment.
1. Prologue

_You are fully prepared to sacrifice yourself for their safety?_

The man wiped his wet cheeks. He nodded once.

 _You are fully prepared to open the portal and replace them **one by one?**_

The man could not speak. He nodded once.

 _You are fully prepared to abandon yourself to_ _ **u s ?**_

The man stared at the ground. He nodded once.

…

…

…

 _. . ._

He could only grit his teeth before a wave of powerful, _painful_ , and ancient magic washed over his body, and _flun_ _g_ him backwards into the realm of reality again. The scent of flowers and sweet things hit his nostrils, and he lay stunned on a soft bed where just a few seconds ago it had been hard, ancient rock in the Realm of Fae.

 ** _Y ou ha ve one d ay to say go o db y e . . ._**

The nation curled into a ball and sobbed. He had no magic left inside him. **T H E Y** had taken it.


	2. Confused Travels

**A/N: Thank you for the attention this has gotten, but on this chapter do any of you mind leaving a comment? It will be heavy writing, and it's a new writing style for me so I would like to know what others think about it. None of the other chapters will be quite this heavy or long, but the setting and situations at hand needed to be set.**

~~~  
 **Confused Travels**

"You know, I had always thought that I'd be kicking zombie ass in the apocalypse."

"Yeah?"

"Fuck yeah Danish dude."

Matthias sighed and chewed on the end of his unlit cigarette, then offered it to Alfred. "I wish there _were_ zombies. Then we'd know where the bodies are."

He took the cancer stick and bit down on it. "I don't think there ever were any."

"No?"

"Nah. I think that Iggy and Norway cast some kind of a spell on all of us."

"…Bullshit. We've had this conversation before. Artie sucks at magic, but even he isn't powerful enough to send us off into this hell . . . Between you me," He took the cigarette when Alfred handed it back, "We're gonna have to turn around. It's been nothing but desert for four days now, Mattie and Feliciano can't handle too much more of this out here. We don't have enough water to last and we can't keep carrying them on our shoulders like we have. You're Superman, I know, but I'm not."

"We can't turn back!" Alfred narrowed his eyes and glanced across the dying fire pit at his brother and Italian friend, both sleeping. He wanted to add soundly after sleeping, but he could hear their uneven breathing over the harsh winds that carried sand and stung the nape of his neck. "Not…not now!"

"I'm not saying for good," Matthias said softly. "Just so we can go back and scavenge the city again…I know we weren't safe back there, but we aren't safe in this desert with two sick men on our backs either. This air isn't helping their lungs."

"That wasteland has been abandoned for years. I still don't know why the people left so quickly to leave behind so many things…It isn't even my city, I can't feel anything from it. It looks American, but…it's not…anymore…" He looked down and frowned. "Let's put out the fire and sleep on it. We can talk to the two in the morning and decide, huh?"

"Sure," Denmark kicked sand into the pit when the breeze was not directed at the sleeping duo, and pulled his bandana back over his mouth.

Alfred did the same. When they did get back to the city, he wanted to burn these goggles. It was a pain in the ass to have them on constantly, but if they did not then the sand would sting and blind them. "G'night, Den…"

They had arranged their camp in the middle of what appeared to be a complete barren wasteland of what they all hoped was still Earth. Italy and Canada were under the tattered blankets holding each other, and Alfred laid down beside his brother while Matthias got beside the Italian. They were sleeping on a part of the ground that was hardened beside the rad they followed, and during the daytime they could see the cracks lining what used to be solid ground. Maybe it had been grass at one point. It was hard staying on what one could assume to be a highway; they were trying to find any towns that could be identified by citizens or people.

Thus far in their confused travels, there had been no people.

Alfred and Matthew had been the fortunate two to be together when it happened. Neither knew exactly where they had been before waking up _here_ , but they knew that the World Meeting had been held at least that prior afternoon. They both agreed on this when Matthew still had his mind intact, before the illness set in. The brothers were still wearing their business suits. They had awakened _here_ , in _this_ world, under the remains of a collapsed overpass on a highway that neither recognized. There was a haze around them, a heavy fog, and it had been freezing cold that day. Being pioneers the two of them, they had stuck close as they chose which way to follow the road—it was cracked and covered in pale sand that seemed to not belong, yet here it was, and so they decided to head north.

The problem was, they did not know which way was north.

The personification of a nation had several built-in qualities about them that they inherited from their citizens or their caretakers. England passed down his eyebrows to most of his poor colonies for instance, and North Italy had inherited his grandfather's artistic talent while South Italy inherited Ancient Greek customs. All of them had built-in compasses set in their minds, so they could never _truly_ get lost in theirs or another's lands . . . And neither Canada nor America knew which way was north. It was highly unnerving for the two of them, so they decided that since they had awakened on one side of the overpass they would go down that direction of road.

And thank god they did, because Denmark was in the first ruined city, if one could call it that, that they discovered. It was also the _only_ city thus far in several months that they had found.

There had once been large buildings in this unknown city, not skyscrapers, but big enough to disappear into the heavy fog surrounding them. There were plants now growing on several of them, and ivy vines snuck across many of these modern yet ancient buildings to the point that it was as though they were dragging the construction back into the ground. The brothers did not know what to make of it all, other than they thought they had been a victim of Arthur's magic perhaps? Was this the future world?

And if so, where were the people? Animals? It was completely silent.

It was hard to tell how long the day was, but Matthew did still have his watch. It was cracked, and he didn't know how it had gotten cracked, but it worked. It began to get dark and colder around eight, so they stopped in a trashed store to sleep. There were many businesses here, all buildings one to hidden-by-the fog stories high, and they were either directly beside each other or, depending on the street, had narrow alleyways between them. There were trashcans in these allies that were empty, every single one of them.

The brothers noticed how quiet this abandoned city was. The buildings were overgrown with plant life, yet they found fairly recent cans of food that had not passed their expiration dates in the trashed store they stopped at (thus dispersing the future world idea). They still did not trust this canned food and left them there. They also remained quiet, only whispering to each other instead of talking outright. Something besides fog hung in the air, and they could feel it listening to their movements like a hidden malevolent presence.

It did not scare Canada or America so much as unnerve them. Ignorance is bliss, America realized later.

Matthias had been rummaging around in one of the many stores, and after two days of quiet traveling down blocks and various streets Alfred and Matthew found him sleeping in there when they wanted to find food that was not growing right in the city. Berry bushes were growing between ivy vines and other weeds—raspberries, blackberries, blueberries, and some nuts. There had been a confused yet excited reunion as Matthias said that he had woken here in this ruined store that had empty shelves and mushrooms growing in the corner (he was not brave enough to eat them, so they were deemed inedible), but he was almost terrified to leave. He said that the heavy fog brought with it an unsettling silence and even with his fearless personality, he was dressed in what used to be clean winter clothes that did not allow easy movements or much protection aside from the cold. Denmark didn't dare explore to find anything that could actually protect him besides an emergency axe he found in the back of the store. Anybody could be out there and this was unfamiliar territory; he had only been awake for one day and wanted to prepare for going outside. Alfred and Matthew had been awake for two days in this place and also scared at the lack of people in this empty city, as well as the fog that had not lifted (Matthias was unsure of whether it was really fog or something else, but by this point it was too late).

Matthias pointed out that they were lucky to have each other. The last thing he remembered was going to the bathroom in his hotel room alone; his Nordic family had dinner plans after the meeting. He had no service on his cellphone, which was cracked in his pocket and turned off until he could find a charger and outlet…Or some wire and a potato. There was no electricity in this store, but he would still be helpless without a charger.

They had set off that same day to scavenge this new world they did not recognize together, and the heavy fog never lifted so there was maybe fifteen yards of visibility around them at all times. They talked about what could have happened and where (or when) they could be, and Matthew mentioned the pale sand that could have been ash, but there would have been bodies, bones.

There would have been _people_. Even _dead_ people would have been welcomed by now.

After four days of scavenging the city, they discovered that the insides of stores were really not as barren as they initially thought. There was still plenty of food to be found. That scared the trio. _Terrified_ them. It meant that there were no survivors in this city to scavenge everything that remained; something had made the people leave before they could take anything. Stores had been ransacked, that was for sure—TVs were gone, computers were broken in many places, one jewelry store was obviously broken into and left in a hurry. There were still necklaces and rings on the ground, some beneath a thin layer of the unidentifiable sand that dusted the ground through the broken windows.

And in grocery stores, the stench of rotting vegetables and fruit was overwhelming. Things _had_ been left behind. They filled two carts with absolute treasure from one store in what they thought was outside the center of the city—four fucking bottled water cases (the only source of water previously had been from the juice in canned foods) and twenty-eight cans of food—and they made a base camp in the back of the same grocery store they found Denmark in since it did not reek of rot.

There had been arguments—Alfred wanted to move on to the next city and travel through this one, but Matthias and Matthew wanted to find out where they _were_ at least. Nothing in this city told them or gave any hints of a location. There weren't even street signs. There were sometimes signs above store windows and doors, but not all of them.

But labels in the stores were English, that was obvious, and used American spelling…Yet Alfred felt nothing of where they were. It was obviously American, but it wasn't _his_ country they were in.

Eight days after finding each other, they felt comfortable enough to leave by themselves so long as the one man exploring had the emergency axe. It was eight days later than they wanted to be there, but it could not be helped at this point. They needed to survive until they found out what happened in _this_ world to make it so damn quiet, _and_ theirs for the cause of them waking up here. Alfred wanted to make a map, if he could ever find some goddamn paper. He found a package of pens, but nothing to write on.

They dared not attract whatever had caused this apocalypse (why else would there be no people but plenty of food?...canned and pickled food, anyway), and the fog never lifted once. They started to wear bandanas found in old clothing stores over their mouths just to be safe, and Matthew went out that day with his glasses secured under his own bandana. He had found and saved a package of six swimming goggles in his pack down the street, because the fog did not lift once ever and he was already nearsighted. One could never be careful enough. The goggles were unopened and shoved into his bag.

That eighth day had also been the day he heard noise for the first time.

At first there was happy singing echoing from down the street that was too familiar, and then Matthew broke into a run towards the noise. It stopped and turned into crying, and later Matthew learned that it was because Italy had not heard anything but wind and his own voice for the past _month_. The poor Italian had awakened on the outskirts of town and made his way inside slowly, just trying to find food and water to survive. It took him a _month_ to get to where they were now by foot, all cars were gone or abandoned in their places (there were no license plates on _any_ of them, and the interiors were stripped of any personal belongings and registrations). He had frozen in his tracks when he heard Matthew running, and when he saw the figure emerging from the fog he had screamed in fear at first before Matthew pulled down his bandana. It echoed and bounced off the ivy-clad walls of the street businesses. Screaming turned into loud weeping, and Italy gave the Canadian the biggest hug he had ever given and pleaded for mercy in Italian, prayed between sobs that Canada was real, or that none of this was real and he would wake up in Germany's arms again, or that Grandpa Rome could lead him into Heaven now.

Matthew could only hug him back and promise him again and again that he was real, and just down the road was the grocery store that he, Alfred, and Matthias had been in for a little less than two weeks now.

Feliciano had collapsed to his knees in the pale sand that dusted the empty streets, devoid of cars except those parked on the side of the road, and sobbed loud enough for the Dane and American to come running out.

"Holy SHIT ITALY!" Alfred had yelled, and both of them joined in on their hug.

The fact that Feliciano's clothes were covered in what was now assumed to be white ash, and Matthew had buried his face in Feliciano's dirtied hair, slipped their minds until the two got sick.

Italy had been cleaned with supplies found in a Bed, Bath, and Beyond store down the road. Despite this American store existing in this odd world, Alfred still felt nothing of the land.

Later that night, between their dinner of cold soup and bottled water, Italy told them that beyond the outskirts of town was a lot hotter than it was in the city, here. It was a desert he woke up in, and the road was wide enough to be a highway. There were no cars. He faced one direction leading into a sandstorm without the wind, a giant wall of sand in the air that blinded him, and it was the same no matter what direction he faced except for one. He had maybe fifteen feet of visibility around him just like they did here in the fog, and he saw that he was on an overpass. He could barely make out shadows of tall buildings in the sand, and he went towards them.

There were large clouds of sand in that air, and even with his shirt pulled up over his mouth he could barely breathe and his eyes that were normally shut constantly stung. The air tasted like sickness and death. It wasn't until he got into the city that it seemed as though a switch had been flipped, and the sand turned into fog in the air, and the sand he had been walking in turned into white ash. It was a very precise _line_ , like he was passing into a different dimension and trading sand for fog ( _hot for cold_ ).

He had no idea how he came to be here as well, but he had been awake and traveling around the same city far longer than they had. That meant that the city was much bigger than they thought too, because Italy swore up and down that he was only going forward down the one street for weeks, scavenging maybe fifteen blocks a day before it got too dark to see, and he was just as surprised as they had been that the city was not completely empty. He didn't want to stray from his one road though after a while, because Feliciano thought that it was a main highway and if there was anybody else here he would find them on the same path eventually.

And he had. It took him a month, but he found Matthew.

He had explained, "The people here started to break into expensive stores, but something stopped them. Food markets still have a lot of food in them, and I've passed by businesses that have full candy jars in their offices and pictures of families that look weird. But expensive stores are missing a lot more stuff than those places . . . So the people did not know that their world was ending if they wanted to take TVs and computers more than food and water. There aren't many cars around either, but I bet that they were all leaving this place. Wherever the cars are, the people took them out of this city."

He then presented his bag, full of candies, dried pasta noodles, shirts, a pair of scissors, and a stiletto knife he had found. There was only one weapon store he had seen, and it was robbed completely dry. It was one of the few truly empty stores he had seen. He found that knife under a shelf, and he told the trio that the exact moment he found it he thought he remembered something about the night before he woke up here, but it went away. It had something to do with the knife though, he swore!

The last thing that Matthias, Matthew, and Alfred could remember was the World Meeting. The last thing that Feliciano could remember was falling asleep in Germany's arms four days before the meeting took place…The June meeting, he said specifically.

It had been July when the _next_ meeting was held, and July was the month that Denmark, Canada, and America remembered it being before they came to this place.

Then Italy had been gone for over a month from their world then, and he had spent over a month wandering only one out of many streets in this foreign and supernatural land. The three that remembered the June meeting could not remember if Italy was there; in fact, they could not remember any of the last two meetings. Just that they had attended them. It was unsettling.

Italy had burst into tears again after dinner was done, and asked them to keep talking when it came to the point that they were too exhausted to keep going. They did not have beds in the back, but they had plenty of blankets and pillows stolen from the abandoned stores around them. Feliciano did not leave Alfred's lap, and while the American silently suspected it was because he was toned and probably felt like Ludwig, Matthew waved the Italian man to sleep beside him for warmth and companionship. They stayed up whispering to each other while Alfred and Matthias slept near them, also huddled together for warmth.

Italy had been completely alone for a long, long time. He admitted that it nearly drove him to suicide after the first two weeks, but the thought of Ludwig or anybody else wandering these streets alone like he was kept him alive and traveling.

Canada hugged him tightly to his chest.

Every single night for the past eight days the trio had been in that store, they kept all lights off (somehow, electricity came and went with different stores on different days, so they kept in mind to find a power source) and kept intact doors shut and locked. The front doors of the grocery store were sliding glass and had been broken, and they had not swept it so if there were in fact people, they could hear them enter. The back doors were locked as well, and so was the office they slept and kept their food and other treasures in. There were no lights or windows in the office, and even the hushed whispering of the Italian and Canadian did not carry sound beyond that locked door.

Yet when they woke up only a few hours later, it was because Alfred had jumped up and took the axe.

"Al," Mathew whispered.

Alfred only shook his head to shush him. There was light coming from beneath the door, pale and blue like the fog each day. The other two were not awake yet, although Matthias' eyes scrunched up, but he and Matthew sat there and listened to the sound of glass crunching beneath heavy shoes just inside the entrance to the store. The sounds echoed. It could have been somebody that they knew. It could have been another lost nation like them.

But the air was too thick and tense, and the brothers had long learned to trust their gut instincts in this place.

". . . **_Zu'u hind wa kippran . . ._** _"_

Matthias' eyes shot open at that. It was fucking _loud_. That voice was a deep, dark growl that one could only imagine belonging to a monster in a horror movie.

" **Krent Nahlot _. . . "_**

Even Alfred shook, and the three that were awake stopped breathing as the heavy footsteps came nearer. The only light that they saw came from below the door, and Matthias was still laying down, he saw fucking **_hooves_** between the floor and door make shadows as it stood in front of their safe haven, and the inhuman creature stopped moving there. They heard it cough and hack (it was disgusting how _wet_ it sounded), and then it spat onto the door. It sniffed like a dog, they heard _that_ clearly, and then it scratched the door with what they were sure were long claws like a pawing dog.

It scratched again.

And again.

Only after a minute that dragged on like an eternity of continuous scratching, and then another wet hack and spit, did it walk off and away from the door.

They realized that it was not heavy footfalls they heard, but it was in fact the heavy clomps of a horse. Matthias would later tell them of the two hooves he saw against the backdrop of mysterious light.

The three of them laid in silence for a good forty minutes more before they finally heard the glass crunching as it left for good. The light went away as well, and it was pitch black again.

What terrified them all was that for forty minutes it had waited for someone to come out.

The three waited another entire hour before Feliciano woke up, and Matthew covered his mouth and shook his head quickly before he could make any sounds. He realized that they were in darkness, and Italy could not see him, so he brushed his lips over the other's ear.

" _Sh_."

It barely broke the silence, and nearly was silence itself. Nearly. Alfred hugged Matthias and Matthew close to him while Matthew hugged Alfred and Feliciano, and thanked God that they were in the corner away from the door. Feliciano just sat waiting with them, aware that something had happened but not aware what. He half blamed himself—the Italian had made a _loud_ scene in the middle of the silent road in his excitement earlier that day. Later on they would all agree that the noise probably attracted the hooved figure, or at least helped. Matthew made a good point by saying that they were four people together who needed showers; salvaged body spray, mints, and razors alone were not enough to keep up good personal hygiene. It probably sensed _and_ smelled their presence.

The axe was in Alfred's lap, and an entire hour longer after Matthew's word was barely spoken did he break down and finally begin to cry.

" _W-where are we?"_

* * *

 **Remember: this is a new writing style for me, so please let me know what you think. I have most of the story written out already, but I can still go back and make changes.**


	3. Lost

**After this chapter present tense will once again be used as we cut to the actual present.**

* * *

The quartet decided to leave that day. They did not exit that locked office until Matthew checked his watch and announced that it was now morning, and they could just make out dim light coming from outside. The Thing had woken them up in the early hours of the night. America, Canada, and Denmark had already packed emergency backpacks a while ago, and they only needed to light a candle to see what they had in this office room. They shoveled in more of the canned foods and water bottles for Feliciano's one pack so they would not be wasted. Rations would be found and shared if things got rough, they decided together.

When they left that office and turned to see the door, it terrified them all.

There were odd magical symbols carved into the wood, and Matthias shook his head. None of them dared talk right now in fear that it was still nearby, but they had not heard anything in weeks. The hooved demon had either come out of nowhere, or they had been _incredibly lucky to not be seen for as long as they had been_.

It took only a while to pack up their rations in yet another set of backpacks (the rest of the canned food and bottled water, blankets or an extra jacket, what weapons they had found, candles, matches, and lighters), and they quietly discussed where they would go…Since there was nowhere _to_ go, they planned to go down the same road that Matthew and Alfred had come from. At least there was another side to that collapsed overpass, they could explore what was beyond that point. Feliciano's route would only take them longer to escape.

It took them a day of tension-filled silence and constant peeking around corners to finally reach sunset, or what they assumed to be sunset, and they had to duck into a small clothing store off of the main road—it had no front windows so that was a plus. They locked what doors they could and made camp in the changing rooms, although they had all wanted to stay together out of fear. Italy had been clinging to at least one of them at a time all day.

"Matthias?" Alfred had whispered when dinner of canned fruit was finished, "Did…did you recognize what It said?"

"Why would he know it?" Matthew frowned, and he had looked up from brushing Feliciano's hair in his lap. The two had very little in common but fear, and that drove people closer together than most anything else could.

"I…It's dragon language," Matthias had given them a dry chuckle. "That shit made it into _Skyrim_ , but it was derived from the Swedish language. We—the Nordics—memorized it, we talk shit about you guys at the meetings sometimes in the language. I didn't think it existed outside of that game, Alfred you little nerd…It was made up. It's a made up language. I don't know why It would speak that shit, but I still hear It in my head. It means…It means _I want to_ _feast_. Then It said, _Broken Silence_. We've been breaking the silence this entire time, every time we breathe, talk, sleep, walk…We broke the fucking silence. There's no one else here in this place but us, not even any animals…"

The Thing had been inside of a grocery store that still had canned food on the shelves. It had marked strange symbols on the office door. It knew that they were inside. It probably could have broken down the office door, the only barrier between It and Them.

But It didn't.

"I think it's hunting us because we're the only humans for miles around. We have to be, because everyone else left in that big of a hurry. There's plant life growing all around this crumbling city like it's been abandoned for years, but everything inside of those buildings are still somewhat fresh and modern. We were in that grocery store, that fruit would have gone bad within weeks and—"

"And it was still in the process of rotting," Alfred blinked. "…Unless this city was already shitty on the outside, people have been here recently. These stores really aren't even that old . . ."

"That thing wasn't human," Matthias said gravely.

"Aliens, you think? Like Tony?"

"No," The Dane shook his head, "No. I think it was a demon. I don't know why it would be speaking a made-up language, but I saw fucking hooves man. We _heard_ fucking hooves."

Feliciano whimpered in the Canadian's lap and cuddled further into it. "D-demon? Like what…Britain and Norway talk to sometimes? It's real?"

"Well…Yeah," Alfred shrugged awkwardly. "We tease the dudes like they're batshit crazy but they're really not. And I don't know how _you_ would be connected to it, but Mattie, Den and I are related to Britain or Norway. Something sent us here man . . . What if . . . The others . . . I-I mean, since we're here too, what if the other nations are dea . . . a-are st-still in th-the city?!" He trembled and ran a hand over his mouth.

Matthias pulled him closer to his own body and pulled the man down to sleep. "It's just us for now. We've been here for weeks."

"It took Italy over a _month_ to find us!" He hissed.

"It took you all over a month to _get_ here," The Italian sniffed, "I have thought about it too," He had said this rather maturely. "If the other nationss are here then they can protect themselves. It _was_ just me for a while, and you guys came along this month...from the next meeting. Let's try to find local people! People who have been here longer! Let's at least find a city name and figure out where we _are_ …"

"Italy's right," Canada pointed out. "We also haven't been out at night. That's when the Thing came to stalk us, in the early-early hours of the morning. I saw it on my watch. Let's be quiet and sleep…" He and Feliciano shifted in the darkness, and they used their backpacks as pillows.

Matthew didn't mind the extra attention or cuddles at all, after an entire lifetime of being ignored or stomped on. There were no romantic feelings harboring his mind; Italy was a very old nation and Canada knew that he and the other two probably replaced Germany and Japan: America and Denmark with their shared strength and leadership, and Canada with how quiet he was and how well he listened. It was still companionship in a tough time though, which he appreciated.

"Let's take turns keeping watch," Alfred shook his head. "The Hero can't let the Villain sneak up on us again!"

"…That's a great idea," Matthias blinked. "Where's the axe? I'll stay up first."

It took some convincing, but Matthias convinced Alfred to go to bed. The American had convinced himself that since he was The Hero, he had to protect and lead the group of four all day. He was exhausted but refused to show it, and it was hard for him to relinquish that power to Matthias (who was also a controlling person, but he agreed with what Alfred had planned thus far and was willing to go along with it).

In the end, Alfred had gone to sleep beside Matthias faster than Matthew or Italy lying together. The Canadian still had his watch intact, and he passed it on to Matthias with a lighter that took him several minutes to feel around for in his pack. The lighter was only to be lit when Matthias needed to tell the time.

Matthias was told to wake Alfred up when four hours had passed, and he would then keep watch for four more before they would have to get up and start their day. The sun rose early.

Denmark did not wake any of them up that night, and he kept watch for the entirety of the eight hours. The following morning he was told off by The Hero, who then straight up carried Matthias bridal style for the first few hours so he could at least nap. With the man's super strength (and stubbornness) and the Dane's weariness, there were no arguments. He napped on and off for a few good hours, and the three were surprised that Alfred could carry a man for that long without complaint or signs of weariness himself.

Canada and Italy began to show signs of their illness that second day of traveling, after they had been walking for a while and Matthias woke up for good. They both became breathless, and breaks had to be taken more often. It was hard for them to catch their breath after several hours of this, but it became nearly impossible for them to lift their legs by the time they neared the edge of the city. Even abandoning several packs did no good. The buildings here were in far worse shape than those they had been living and digging in; they were completely overgrown with plants and some had completely collapsed. It was hard to avoid the wreckage of them in the roads, and as they climbed over large pieces of metal and concrete Alfred and Matthew _swore_ that they had not passed this when they came into the city.

The quartet could have reached the very end of the city by that point, but they had to stop again, this time in a partially collapsed office building that was missing its entire front side wall. They could see right inside, and the wind had swept ash over the remains inside. Bricks were scattered around the outside and inside of the place, blocking some of the rooms and upstairs. The downstairs offices on the opposite side of the wreckage were still intact though, and America and Denmark carried Canada and Italy (and their many packs) to get them inside faster before the sunset. There had been nothing during the days to suggest they were being followed, so they had to assume for their own sanity that the Demon only hunted when the fog turned pitch black in the night. Even then, Denmark found no footprints (or…hoofprints) other than their own in the ash outside of the places they stayed in. This might have been because of the winds also; overnight they heard the howling sometimes and knew that the ash was being moved.

There were windows in the offices they found though, and the other buildings looked far worse around them. There were no blinds for these windows and that was a big no-no when being hunted; even with winds to cover their tracks they could still be seen. Alfred and Matthias carried the sick two into the bathrooms, which at least had doors that could lock. There were no windows in there and were pitch black.

But, after lighting a few candles to see, the bathroom was surprisingly clean and easy to lay everything down in. There was no running water, but at least they could piss in the right place.

Denmark and America went back out to scavenge the offices that were not destroyed in whatever had crumbled the buildings on this side of the town, and found another axe amidst the fallen, rotten drywall of one side of the building. They lit more candles before going back inside of the bathroom so they could see better, and by that time Matthew and Feliciano had reached their freezing stage of the illness. They were exhausted, had difficulty breathing, and now had chills.

The healthier two decided that separation was not necessary—they had all been together, after all. Italy had been found healthy, and he had been around them all enough to understand that if there was a contagious illness, they would have _all_ caught it. Alfred suspected that it was part of the demon's odd spit and carvings into the door two nights prior ("what if it was a ritual or a spell, dude?" "Al, what if he was marking us as _his_ to hunt?" "...Why not both?"), and he and Alfred tried their best to keep the weaker men warm with extra jackets and blankets.

America and Denmark were the stronger of the two after all. They decided that if things became worse and one of them got this helpless and sick too, then the one healthy man still standing would watch the three for as long as possible. If that last man standing was not able to move them to safety, and the hooved figure came back, they all agreed: Whatever It would do to them was a situation worse than death. The last man standing would have the knife Italy found and their axe.

Alfred and Matthias agreed that they would kill each other to spare the sick men, and themselves, from that fate worse than death.

It was a long night, and there was no incident when keeping guard.

There was nothing on the bathroom door after they ate breakfast and left with the sick two being carried over the healthy two's backs. Matthew and Feliciano couldn't speak. They slept often. The same symptoms went on as they exited the city that same day—and thank the gods above that they had thought of bandanas and Matthew had his goggles, because it really was like exiting one world to the next.

The fog had shifted to sand just like Feliciano said, and the temperature flew up from maybe fifty degrees to a toasty eighty in a mere few feet, something that caused reason to take a few steps backwards and find Matthew's swimming goggles he had found the same day he found Feliciano. The sand was in the air, and their eyes were itchy just from the few seconds they spent in it. Poor Feliciano only survived because his eyes were always shut, it was a part of who he was. He found his way through life by seeing things in his head like a mental eyesight. Alfred took his and Matthew's glasses off and replaced them with these goggles, careful to wrap them in cloth before setting them in his bag, and Matthias did the same with goggles for the Italian and himself before they went back into the desert.

It was odd how much of a portal it felt like. They almost felt uncomfortable traveling down the highway at this point, because not only was the sand so thick in the air they could not see thirty yards ahead of them, but there were no more cars. There had been so few anyway, but there were none now. During the four-day journey in this desert of sandstorms heavy like the fog, they had seen only one car.

It was melted into the road. The interior was burnt to a crisp, and the wheels were nonexistent. The bottom of the car was melted into the ground, but there were no signs of life.

…Or death.

For four days they camped, kept watch, hiked along the abandoned highway in the sand, and only two of the four could stand up. Denmark and America stopped eating their rations to give more to Italy and Canada, who were at least not cold anymore in the blazing heat of this desert. But even so, the nights were cold and their rations were already running low. They ate under the blankets they had and tried to camp at the base of small hills to keep the sand away from the only food they had now. Sometimes the sand clouds would die down. Sometimes they would be so dense they had to sit down in the middle of the road under their blankets and wait it out, coughing and hacking the entire time.

This is where we left off.


	4. Return

**Warning: FrUK, FACE Family implied, and swearing.**

* * *

France collapsed beside Britain, both of them panting messes and flushed red. He pulled the sheets over their bodies, and both silently decided that they would do laundry in the morning.

"Fuck," Arthur had to say it again, because the first came out half strangled in a heavy exhale. "Fuck. Four bloody times," He gasped out.

"Slut," Francis teased.

"Whore."

"That was fun, no?" He relaxed—or perhaps reclined, Arthur thought, Francis was more like a feline reclining in pride at that moment—into the mattress and pulled his lover close. "We have not done anything fun like this in years while you have been sober."

"It still took me two beers to agree to let you come home, bastard," He sighed and cuddled into the other man, reluctantly allowing himself to feel happy about it. "And you managed to impress me."

"I made you scream."

"Hey," He growled out, "That was during the foreplay."

"Tickling still counts and you _loved_ it."

"I fucking _hate_ being tickled-"

"Oh _please_ , you are so cute-!"

"-and you _know_ -"

"-And when you smile I feel myself-"

"-how much I hate it you-"

"-falling in love all over again."

"…Frog," Arthur finished his own sentence, and looked up with a frown at one smug-looking Francis. "That isn't fair," He sighed and rested his head against the other's chest. "I love you too, but tickling is never fair."

"It wasn't the only thing that made you scream though, _mon cher_ ," He shut his eyes. "If you are in pain, the Ibuprofen is in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom."

"Darling, the pain is the point. I don't mind it," But the fact that Francis was still caring for his wellbeing was a welcome idea, and so Arthur shut his eyes as he felt himself drifting off again. "We have an entire day before the flight, and then we go to the meeting in America. So long as I am not so sore by the end of tomorrow to sit on the plane then I'll be fine with whatever you plan to do to me."

"So you expect to awaken, say, tied up?" Francis snorted. He hardly ever did that in the company of anyone but those closest to his heart. "That wounds me so! I was hoping to take you out to breakfast, or make breakfast in bed and hand feed you like a king!"

"…A king who will be tied up against his will?" Arthur opened one eye and managed to glare up at his lover like that.

"A king who will be treated to a day of feathers and crops if he so desires."

"…Well fuck," Arthur grit his teeth. "Don't get the king wound up and excited before bed, peasant."

"…Is this our next roleplay?" Francis laughed and rubbed between Arthur's shoulder blades where he knew the man would arch his back if touched.

And Arthur did arch his back, so he hit his lover's chest. "Bloody git, go to bed!"

Their day had been spent preparing for the next summit of the World Meeting. It had only been a month, but duty called. Arthur shouldn't have even needed to go to this meeting coming up, and he did technically not now that Brexit took him away from the Union's agenda, but this was not a matter of political discussion between representatives for the public's knowledge.

No, the countries held their own meetings to discuss private matters without their bosses or governments riding down their backs. It was an unofficial yet highly official meeting (a contradiction if he ever thought one) between the nations themselves to talk out their decisions and make sure that things were in agreement, or talk further if they were not. It was a place for nations outside of places like the European Union to meet. Britain had not heard from America or Canada in a long time now, and especially since America did not have many allies nowadays he worried for the nation.

He worried a lot.

* * *

The American man woke up in a bed that was not his.

He sat up in a room that was not his.

He breathed in oxygen from a _world_ that was not his.

Where was the fog? Where was the mold, the fallen buildings, the ash?

He stood up and when feet hit a clean, wooden floor he hissed and pulled it away. Too cold. He was in clean clothes too though, and the room was too bright for him to feel comfortable. The walls were a sky blue that reminded him too much of eyes that would never blink again

 _Al, we need to talk_

and there was an American flag hanging above the bed.

His flag.

His flag was also the pillow he had apparently slept on, and a digital clock ( _the fuck, there's electricity here?_ ) read the time as eight in the morning. He once again set his feet on the floor, and this time let himself look around the room that was full of superhero posters and a few of his past presidents. His eyes blinked when he realized that he could see, but once he stood up his body moved on its own to the bathroom.

He remembered where he was.

 _I know a way to help our kind from dying, Allen._

He remembered who he was.

It is harder than it looks to remember things like that when one first wakes up after half a century of hardship and war.

The American man gazed into the bathroom mirror on the wall, his old scars as pink and bright as ever against his only slightly tan skin now, and red eyes met tired red eyes in the mirror. With a heavy sigh, he repeated the same actions he had repeated each morning since he woke up in this world that was so different from the apocalypse that his had been destroyed from.

He brushed his teeth.

He showered.

He reminded himself, when some of the missed strands of brown hair swirled into the bottom of the drain, to re-dye his hair and make sure he did not miss any spots on a head that _should be blonde but the fucking cheap hair dye made it look red for fuck's sake._

He put in the blue eye contacts so nobody could see the red eyes of Allen F. Jones.

And finally, before he put on his work clothes for that day, he reminded himself to answer to "Alfred." Some of them said Al, or Mr. Jones, but anyone who called the second persona by "Alfred" was met with silence or confusion at first before he got the hang of it.

It was still fucking hard to fit in around here, but at least he didn't have to suffer like Matt did in a world that left him alone with the guilt of what they had done. At least Allen was too busy to think about the past and their recent actions in it. The second players may have been doing something evil, but it was part of a sacrifice that they could not ignore.

* * *

It took them five long, long days to reach the city again.

By this point, Alfred and Matthias were running off of adrenaline and they looked like they had lost a little bit of weight. Their rations had not run out, but water began to get too low for comfort and the juice from their canned foods began to replace it. Green bean water is disgusting, even to those who are growing desperate. They had been in that desert and the heat for nearly ten days and it wreaked absolute havoc on their lungs. Sand waves came and went, but it was always there blinding them exactly like the fog had. All four were coughing messes, and America was faced with half carrying, half dragging Canada and Italy through the sand while Denmark hacked his lungs out for the last two days.

The goggles helped them all, but their bandannas did very little in regards to protection.

When they reached the collapsed overpass, it took them a good forty minutes for everyone to climb up and past it. It took another hour to get to the city, and when the fresh, cool air hit their lungs the four of them removed their filthy goggles and collapsed to the ground. Italy and Canada began to shiver again, but the former also began to weep.

"Th-the sand…I-i-it wasn't…" Italy trembled.

The quartet had not reached the desert until they got _past_ the overpass nine days ago. It took them until the buildings were a bridge away for the sand to disperse. That meant that the desert was growing, or at least moving, into (or towards) the city.

"Doesn't matter. We're here," America panted. " _Fuck_ . . . Aw, _fuck_."

The ash in the center of the road coming into the city had been swept into a large pile. None of the four saw the top of the mound, but Alfred and Matthias let Matthew and Feliciano stretch a little on the cool pavement and traveled the few feet closer to see what the deal was. The ash had not been swept when they left—they had used this exact road. Yet here was a pile, nearly six feet tall, right in the middle of the road they wanted to travel into the city on.

At the top of the ash pile was a human skull, with its teeth buried into the grains and its cranium caved in the back, as if the person had been killed by a massive blow to the head.

The Demon that had been hunting them knew that they would come back. The desert was too unforgiving and that highway had lead nowhere, the city was the only livable place in the vicinity. There was nowhere else to go.

 _So It left them a present_.


	5. Seconds at the Meeting

**Sorry for the wait! Christmas got busy and classes started back up-but rest assured, I have plans to finish this story. But reviews/comments would definitely help...There are a lot of you watching this story, and I'm thankful for that, but can you show me you at least care enough to leave a comment?**

* * *

Canada appeared to be normal, at least to the rest of the nations. He had always been quiet, and when he did not have his polar bear such as now his hands were generally writing down notes or fidgeting in his lap. But this time, his hands were still. He talked quietly to America the entire length of the meeting, who had apparently been in California for way too long and gotten quite sun kissed. Even his hair had changed.

"…That is not my Canada," France whispered to Britain once there was a break in the meeting. Neither of the younger nations had talked very much during this, and did not have much to say about the subject matters anyways this time around.

"Well he looks like he needs a haircut, but—"

" _Non_ ," France whispered urgently, "My baby doesn't sit like that."

"He probably—"

"And when has Alfred ever been quiet for this long?"

That got Arthur to sit up. It was true. He and Canada had disappeared together when the break was called; neither even said hello to their parental figures. "Well," He frowned, "They could be up to something…Don't you think it's odd how _Italy_ is acting? Quiet? Like America and Canada, no?" He nodded over to the Italian's seat—Feliciano had gotten up and left shortly after America and Canada had. They may not even be coming back.

"I think that they might be in trouble," France whispered.

"America is always in trouble," Arthur frowned. "He's a new generation country, he's going through what we went through ages ago. He's just trying to dominate multiple powers and win a meaningless contest."

"Yes, but what about Canada? And Italy?"

"I've heard that Italy has been feeling off for months," He shook his head. "Germany doesn't know why, but Italy has still been as clingy as ever. Just quiet. Alfred may be dragging Matthew down with him…Let's go talk to them," He nodded and stood to try and find his boys.

Francis grabbed his arm. "Wait," He shook his head. "I want to talk to Russia. He and Alfred aren't on the best of terms right now and I want to see what he says. You go on, try to find them."

Arthur nodded.

He could not find Alfred or Matthew, even after trying to call both several times each and texting nearly a dozen times. He grew furious and went straight to the hotel, where he discovered that they had just checked out and were already gone in the span of a few minutes.

Francis was told by Russia that he had no idea what was happening, but even he felt a little off seeing the usually loud American so quiet and jumpy…But not off enough to do anything about it.

The parental units met together in their shared hotel room and discussed their worries together.

* * *

Meanwhile, Austria made his way back to his hotel room too. He and Lichtenstein had just been talking in the elevator ride up here; Switzerland and Netherlands were apparently talking much more often recently and it left the young lady with a lot more freedom than she had experienced in years. She loved her big brother more than anything in the world, but she did miss getting to talk to men without a gun being pointed at them within minutes. It was nice that not only was Switzerland making new friends, but she had a bit of freedom because of it.

So, Lily and Roderich planned a tea party on the seventh that following month, granted things kept going as well as they had between her brother and new "friend."

She followed Austria back to his room to continue their nice conversation—scones or cake?—and were met with darkness.

"Hm," Roderich tutted as he removed his coat to place on the bed. "I left those curtains open, I wonder why the maid closed them?"

"Actually," Came a familiar drawl from the darkest corner, "Forgive me for my intrusion. I haven't seen the light of the true sun in forty or fifty years now."

"Who is that?!" Lily instantly pulled out a can of mace attached to her keys. She did not recognize the voice.

Oh, but Roderich did.

He recognized that voice.

His heart froze, and his eyes went wide. "Y . . . How . . . You, I…R—Roland?"

The figure in the corner coughed and stood. "I haven't seen _you_ in fifty or _sixty_ years now either, have I?"

"Mister Austria, who is he?" Lichtenstein's voice rose, but she dared not take a step forward or backward. She could _feel_ the waves of fear rolling off of Roderich like she could feel her _bruder's_ fury every time he got pissed off. Then she recognized him. The way his nose pointed like Austria's even in the shadows, the shape of their eyes, that one curl at the top of their heads… "Oh _mein Gott_ …"

The first player felt his throat go dry in absolute terror at the sight of his second. "Th-the magic wielders said that the portal was gone."

"Yes. Our world was destroyed."

Roland Edelstein, the second persona of Austria, turned on the lamp in place of opening the curtains. What had once been slicked back hair was now ratty and tangled, and long enough to be pulled into a ponytail. His cowlick had formed more into a curl over the many years of hair negligence. Something white had long since set into his hair, like chalk or ash, and it lined his skin and clothing too. His teeth were still sharpened (a task done during the Austro-Prussian war to scare his Prussia), and his eyes were still the same glowing red that Roderich remembered them being, but they were somehow not as sharp anymore. They were dulled with age and weariness. He wore torn jeans that were a size too big, and the coat that he wore probably used to be white, but was now brown and red—Roderich realized these two colors were fresh and dried blood.

"Whose blood is that?" He shook.

The Austrian had always been more terrified of his second persona than anyone else from his own dimension. The man was insane, and he never took no for an answer during the portal crossings once a year. Roderich had awakened more than once tied helpless and abused by this monster, no matter where he fell asleep or where he tried to hide after the meetings (even when he did not attend the portal crossings, Roland found a way to find him when he so desired). Roland was not abusive and lustful every single time the Others crossed into their dimension, but when the portal crossings occurred on an annual basis from 1403-1918, there were plenty of times when not even Elizabeta could stop Roland from conquering the _weaker_ version of him that lived in a far better looking dimension.

"I told you," Roland gave a sickening grin with his sharp teeth and stood from his chair, "Our world was destroyed. I'm so sorry, and I don't think a lot of us want to do this to you poor, happy-go-lucky bastards, but I've only got the day left before They send me back," He held up his right hand, and Roderich and Lily could not help but notice the stubs where his pinky, ring, and middle fingers used to be. It made Roderich gulp. "Do you know how Arthur and Oliver established the portals?"

"Magic?" Lily stepped up beside her uncle figure, still holding her mace up. She didn't trust the man for a minute, and kept looking back to see if Liesl was hiding somewhere too. Liesl was not nearly as…deranged as Roland was, but she was violent enough to make her own Second Switzerland weary.

"Smartass," Roland chuckled to himself. "Aha. I've missed children. We don't know where They took the people, but there aren't children anymore. Walking through the portals back then was like walking through a long hallway you know—the walls weren't real walls though, they were just a connector between our worlds. There were things hiding between the doors, did you know that? Oliver said that the passage lit up like a Christmas tree when we used it, that's why the Things found our world. Like moths to the flame."

"Things? . . . Roland, what are you talking about? Did your people have a war?" Ah, but Roderich thought he had an idea as to what happened already. "How did you come back here?! Are there more of you?"

"A war? I guess it was a war," Roland took a step towards them again. "If, if interdimensional beings fr-from between our realms coming into my world and _killing off nearly our entire population_ , then _ja_. It was a war. It was a war that _bit off my fingers_ ," His grin turned savage. "It was a war that killed my dearest _Ellie_ ," His Hungary, which bit Roderich too because the Second Hungary was like a helpless fawn. " _It was a war that brought our kind to the brink of extinction!_ But not _now!_ Now I'm _here!_ **And** **so. Are.** ** _You_** **…** _But not for long,_ _ **Roddy**_ **.** "

Roderich was the first to be tackled to the ground.

* * *

"Hey! Denmark!"

The younger voice ran up Denmark's spine like nails on a chalkboard, and he turned around to see the little runt come running up to him. God.

"Uncle Matthias!" Sealand waved his arm and finally caught up to his 'uncle.'

"Peter," The man raised his chin. He needed to act more like this world's Denmark, he knew that, but god _knows_. It was _hard_. Markell couldn't stand to look at his doppelganger family. He couldn't stand being _here_.

None of them respected their Denmark either. _His_ family, the ones back in the old worl…well, the old family, _they_ respected him. At least, _most_ of them did. His Sealand had never shown any respect, and it was almost cute that this one actually seemed to like him.b

"Hey, so, Mister England-Mc _Jerk_ Face isn't around and everyone else wants to do other things without…me…" The kid stopped right in front of him, and stared when Denmark turned to fully face him. "…When did you get that scar across your cheek?"

"Uh, it's just a scratch," He turned away again, back down to his papers in front of him. Shit. "Nothing big...I was playing with a cat and she didn't like me is all."

"Well," The child still looked uneasy, and Markell had to bite his cheek to keep the grimace off his face. The Dane felt uncomfortable lying to this kid, Peter obviously loved Matthias. He was always hounding the adult down even outside of these stupid meetings. "Well, I was wondering if you wanted to spend some time with me?"

Well now he felt a surge of anger. "Because the others were arguing with me? Kid, it isn't important."

Throughout the meeting, the other Nordics finally called Denmark out for acting oddly (one will act oddly when one is dropped into a dimension where **_the apocalypse has not happened_** ). He had snapped back that he was just feeling unwell, that he wanted to be left alone. It may have been a bad call, because they only seemed to poke harder at his walls and get angrier that he did not lower them. For the past month he had been called an idiot by many nations (but not by Sealand, nor any of the other children nations), and it only reminded him of who he left behind in his destroyed world.

None of _his_ Nordic family were here. Not yet, anyways. **They** had made him leave them behind. He only hoped that **They** had not killed the remaining Nordic nations yet.

"You've been really quiet for a while now," Peter frowned and plopped beside 'Matthias' in the next empty seat. "Are you alright? . . . Were they all being mean to you too? Papa and Mama are fighting over grown-up things, it isn't your fault if they snap out!"

Denmark sighed and leaned back in his seat. "Norway and Iceland are throwing a fit over how quiet I'm being too, kiddo. I didn't think that acting differently would affect them like that."

"Why _are_ you acting differently?"

"I'm just," He paused, "going through some things right now."

"Are they things you could tell me about? O-or Norge or Icey? I know you're closer to them, and maybe they'd understand better…And they're the ones who got mad."

"That's…sweet. But no." Aw, jeez. This Sealand was very different than his old one (that brat had been a little sadist, but this one was just fucking lonely). The kid looked sad and Markell actually felt sorry for him. "Okay, tell you what. Your parents are off fighting and my brothers are pretty angry with me right now. So that means this meeting's basically over for me, right?" He managed to give Peter a dopey grin that he imagined (correctly) his first persona would make. "Are you here with any, ah, friends?"

"I…no!" Peter looked up at him with newfound joy and Markell was delighted to see that shine returning to his eyes.

"Then let's you and me go to lunch. We'll talk, we'll have fun, we'll come back, and I'll apologize to our family for not speaking up about my personal feelings."

It wasn't his fault Norway knew that he wasn't their Denmark. Lukas could probably feel the dark magic around him or see that Markell's aura was a different color or some shit like that, because he had asked some oddly specific questions about why Denmark was acting different. But Lukas couldn't prove a goddamned thing and he knew it, and for now Markell really needed to stay under the radar and act like their stupid, silly, _happy_ , Denmark.

He stood up with the only child who seemed to take him seriously in this realm to get lunch.

* * *

 **Any guesses as to what's happening thus far? ;D Roland sort of explained part of it.**


End file.
